Those Three Words: A Single Dad, Billionaire Boss Romance(81)
“You think people are meant to be?” I ask.
She nods. “Sometimes I do, yeah.”
“Me too. I think about how we both lost a lot in life, and then it was like we were these two perfect puzzle pieces that came together and filled those empty spots for each other.”
I reach down and pull the comforter over our bodies as Margot wraps herself around me.
“I have a question,” she says, breaking the silence.
“Hmm?”
“When did you know it was hopeless for you with me? That you weren’t going to be able to resist any longer?”
I think about her question. “I was instantly attracted to you, I knew that. That’s why I didn’t help you up when you tripped that first night. Just shaking your hand had my body buzzing and I didn’t trust myself. But probably that night I walked in on you talking orgies.”
She laughs.
“I’m sorry it’s not a more romantic moment,” I confess. “But dammit, woman, you had me so wound up. What about you?”
She bites her lip, dragging her teeth slowly across it. “Well, I’m afraid my moment isn’t much more romantic either.”
“Do tell.” I bite her earlobe softly.
“Those three words…” she says as her eyes flutter close. “Come to daddy.”
The words sound way more erotic when she says them. I drag my tongue down her neck as my hand comes up to plump her breast.
“Oh, you’re a naughty girl,” I say as she melts against me.
“Only for you, sir.”
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Did you love Those Three Words? Be sure to check out my other stand-alone billionaire boss romance…Dirty Little Secret.
* * *
I'm the type of man that gets what I want.
Hell, I didn’t become a billionaire before forty-five by playing by the rules.
But then she waltzed into my life…
* * *
Keep reading for a preview!
DIRTY LITTLE SECRET SNEAK PEAK
I'm the type of man that gets what I want.
Hell, I didn’t become a billionaire before forty-five by playing by the rules.
But then she waltzed into my life…
* * *
Wren Adler, my head of PR and the star of every one of my dirty fantasies.
She's driven, fiery and more than ten years younger than me.
In other words, she’s off f-ing limits.
But when a psycho stalker starts to terrorize her and her narcissistic ex keeps making mysterious appearances in her life, the only way I could make sure she stays safe—was to have her move in with me.
So now I'm not just tortured at work, but every night as she permeates every inch of my life.
I’ve been a saint for three years.
* * *
I've kept my hands off her curvaceous body and my filthy thoughts to myself.
* * *
Until last night when she asked if I had any dirty little secrets and my resolve finally snapped.
I should have walked away.
I shouldn't have tasted her.
I shouldn't have let my hands roam.
And I sure as hell shouldn't have told her to grab the headboard.
Instead, I finally let myself indulge in the ultimate fantasy of pretending she’s mine.
* * *
Now, she thinks that she’s my dirty little secret but the truth is, I’m not only lying to her, I’m lying to myself.
I have to decide to take a chance on finally getting what I want, or walking away forever.
CHAPTER 1
THEO
“You know I don’t speak just to hear myself talk, right?”
“Hmm?” Wren Adler, my head of PR, makes a questioning response but doesn’t turn her focus to what I’m actually saying. She’s clearly lost in thought, staring out the window of my downtown Chicago high-rise office.
I take the opportunity to drag my gaze up her curvy body. Before you judge me too harshly, I know… I’m her boss and it’s unprofessional as shit to lust over your employee. I don’t make a show of it; I’m discreet, but a man can only handle so much voluptuous temptation. For three long years I’ve had to talk myself out of bending her over my desk every damn day. I’d like to think it’s because I’m a noble gentleman but I’m not sure that’s the case. Apart from my very strict no fraternizing policy at my company, she’s also still twenty-nine years old and I’m weeks away from forty-two. Whatever the reasons, I just know she’s absolutely off-limits.
“Wren, I’d like to get this press release out today so if we could focus?” I say a little more sternly.
She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, drawing attention to the seductive seam that runs up the back of her pantyhose. Or maybe they’re thigh-highs? I imagine the top of her sheer black stockings encased in lace, gripping her thick thighs.
Fuck. Rein it in, I tell myself.